Lost in Winter
by ninja1871
Summary: Michelle lost her fiance during the fire four years ago at the Opera Populaire. The evening before the grand opening night, she not only gets lost in the large building, but also gets injured. Erik, regrettably, hears her scream and decided to find who he believed to be an overly curious ballet girl searching for the Opera Ghost. He couldn't have been more wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! This is not my first fanfic for Phantom of the Opera, but this is the first one that I am actually semi-satisfied with, so please (please) review and tell me what you think!**

Lost in Winter

Chapter 1

Wrapped tightly in a black cloak, a lone woman slowly, dreadfully walked through the innumerable rows of the graveyard. The light cast from her lantern only provided so much, and several times she stumbled and nearly fell. She halted before one of the larger tombstones, staring blankly at it as her mind still refused to accept the engraved words. The tears would not come, nor did she want them to. The time to grieve was four years ago when she saw his charred and motionless body.

As she kneeled down to place the flowers beside the cold and weathering stone, she gradually began speaking to her lost love. The words seemed to tumble and flow of their own accord, saying everything that she felt couldn't be said anywhere else. Only when her voice began to quiver and crack from the strain of her internalized sorrow did she stop. And while she walked away she could feel the emotions of regret start to lighten, only to darken as troublesome thoughts took over once more.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

The grand reopening of the Opera Populaire was set for the week's end, but the performers saw it as liberation from the torture called rehearsal. As for the two managers, they could not believe there luck! While the repairs on the opera house had taken a little more than a pretty penny from their pockets, if there were no patrons demanding a refund, and perhaps gave a little extra, then they would have nearly recovered all that was lost… at least monetary wise.

Indeed, the illustrious opera house that resided in Paris had recovered from the terrible events of four years ago. Although what was damaged on the surface could easily be hidden or fixed, the destruction done to its reputation was facing more than a bit of struggle. Performers and patrons alike feared that another disastrous event would occur at the hands of the Phantom, causing few to return without persuasion.

"…chelle… Michelle!"

"Yes?" the brunette said, finally emerging from her thoughts.

"What were you thinking? Leaving at such an unreasonable hour? Look at you; your hair is still damp from the rain!" the small girl ranted.

"Evelyn, please, calm down—" Michelle unsuccessfully attempted to speak over her friend.

"Do you realize what could have happened? What if there had been grave robbers? Then what would you have done?" Evelyn continued to admonish.

"Evelyn!" Michelle said forcefully, causing her to abruptly look up. "Nothing happened, and I am neither ill nor harmed. And it was the only time I could go today, and you know that I had to leave."

"That may be true, but at least inform beforehand so I don't wake up to find you missing!" she said defensively.

Michelle smiled, but her words were promptly cut off by Madame Giry's demand for the ballerinas' attention. The ballet mistress's expression looked far from pleased, making the girls hurry a little more.

"Girls, as you are well aware, tomorrow evening is the opening performance to signify the return of the Opera Populaire," the Madame began. "After much contemplation, I have decided to give you tonight free from rehearsal. But, I want you to spend this time wisely relaxing. Should any one of you dance poorly at tomorrow's presentation, there _will_ be consequences."

Almost immediately after she finished speaking, she appeared to have regretted ever letting the words pass her lips.

Michelle and Evelyn, however, had slipped away not even a moment after Madame Giry had turned away. As they wove their way through the intricate maze of hallways, the two couldn't stop pondering what had made the revered woman even think to allow them a night off.

"If it was not so improbable, I would have wagered to say somebody had replaced her!" Evelyn exclaimed.

"Don't say such far-fetched things; maybe we had finally danced well enough to at least satisfy her for a few days," Michelle reasoned.

"Oh, don't be a hypocrite. You know as well as I do that she is never satisfied with our dancing," she argued.

"Well, believe what you want, but I have to head back. I forgot to tell Madame something," she lied. "It will probably be a while, but I will have returned by curfew."

Michelle hurried off, not waiting for a response. In actuality, she had nothing of importance to relay to the woman, but instead felt that it necessary to have a proper excuse so she could be alone for a while. Even though she had insisted that her wellbeing was intact after visiting the cemetery, it was only half true. While she may not be physically injured, the day was emotionally draining. And with tomorrow being the grand and long anticipated opening night, she needed the some solitude if she were to dance properly.

She aimlessly wandered through the building, not being particularly cautious or caring about which direction she was going. Only when the air began to cool did she emerge from her thoughts. Looking around, her panic flared when she couldn't recognize where she was. As she studied her surroundings, she noticed that the floor beneath her feet was not marble, but rather plain stone. And instead of the decorative candelabras to light the hallways, they were replaced by torches.

Completely preoccupied by these drastic changes, she didn't notice the stairs ahead. With a scream, she tumbled down the hard steps, finally coming to a stop at the base. Michelle grumbled something unintelligible before struggling to sit up. Her body ached and was no doubt bruised, but as if to add to her growing list of problems her legs were terribly scratched up. If Madame Giry saw this, it would be her head. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she tried to stand up and gasped when a sharp pain coursed through her ankle.

Forget losing her head, Madame Giry would never let her see the light of day!

Shoulders sagging, Michelle slumped against the cold wall. A situation like this was exactly what she wasn't supposed to get into on her night off. The minutes ticked by painfully slow, and exhaustion fought to take over. Now that she had stopped moving, the warmth of her body was not match for the chilly air. With heavily lidded eyes, she curled her knees into her chest, and waited.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Erik was startled from his reverie when he heard a distant scream. A frown settled uncomfortably on his features, and he sighed. No doubt, another one of those overly curious ballet girls wanted to know whether the Opera Ghost still existed. His ears strained to pick up the sound of footsteps, and his frown was replaced by a scowl when he heard nothing. Muttering multiple profanities, he rose from his organ bench and began the trek to find this idiotic girl.

With his knowledge of the opera house, it was no surprise that it took very little time to find her. Still in the coverage of the shadows, he slowly approached, noting how frail she appeared. Her deep and rhythmic breathing told him she was sleeping, and the light from a nearby torch revealed many bruises along her arms.

Feeling much more at ease since she was not conscious, he walked closer. His thoughts were running wild as he pondered what on earth he should do. If he left her there, the chances of anyone ever finding her were slim to none. As much as he despised helping people, he knew that he would face the fearsome wrath of the ballet mistress if he didn't. They might not be on speaking terms at the moment, but nothing would stand in her way if one of her ballerinas was hurt.

Releasing another exasperated sigh, Erik kneeled down and picked up the girl. She was light; much lighter than he believed to be healthy. He looked down at her face, and realized that she was not a girl, but rather a woman. Though she was small, her defined and graceful features proved that she was around nineteen to twenty years of age. When he realized he had yet to start walking, he shoved the thoughts away and made short work of returning to his underground home.

After short contemplation on where to lay her down, he settled on the fact that his bed was the only option. He stood next her sleeping form, observing her. His eyes scanned over her until he finally noticed her scraped legs… and swollen ankle. Now he was faced with another dilemma: what should he do about her still bleeding wounds? It was quite improper to touch an unmarried woman's legs, but Erik knew that if he didn't help her it would risk infection.

Further annoyed that he still had to help her, Erik walked to a cabinet and retrieved a salve and bandages. Grabbing a rag, he walked over to the water and dipped it in before returning to her side. Delicately, so as not to disturb her, he wiped off the dried blood with the rag, and then put on the salve. Soon enough, her injuries were clean and bandaged, and he could carry on with his organ.

Only he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, the _thought_ of her being in the room next to him was distracting. Erik's prior annoyance quickly transformed into frustration and anger. What was the value in this? She wouldn't be thankful; she would be terrified and disgusted, just as every other being he had had the displeasure of meeting acted towards him! He clenched his hands into tight fists, his knuckles turning white as the skin stretched across the bone.

"Hello?"

Erik froze.

This could not end well.

"Do you need something, Mademoiselle?" he asked in a controlled tone, not turning around. It would be a disaster if she saw his mask.

"Oh, no, I don't. I was just wondering where I am…" Michelle trailed off, suddenly nervous.

"I found you unconscious and hurt, and I brought you here so you wouldn't become ill as well from being in the cold," he replied, careful of his words.

"Thank you, that was very kind of you."

"Think nothing of it."

"Why do you keep your back turned to me?" she asked.

"Believe me when I say, Mademoiselle, that you do not want me to turn around," Erik said, his voice tight.

"If you are afraid of me knowing that you are the man also known as the Phantom, there is nothing to fear. I am not planning on telling anyone that you're still here," said Michelle, slightly peeved at his behavior.

"I am not the one who should be afraid; you are," he said darkly, finally facing her. "You should be horrified that you are in the presence of such a hideous monster. You should be hoping that you even make it out of her alive!"

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"And how do you know I wouldn't hurt you?"

"Because you could have easily done so while I was asleep. And if you did want to hurt me, you wouldn't have helped in the first place," Michelle pointed out.

Erik opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when he realized she had won the argument. Another worn and weary sigh escaped, and he sat back down on the bench.

"You are right; I won't hurt you," Erik said reluctantly. "Come now, I must return you otherwise your ballet mistress will storm down here and that would not be a pleasant scene at all. Follow me."

"Um… Monsieur, though I am very much appreciative for all that you've done for me, there is a slight problem," Michelle started apprehensively.

"And that would be what exactly?"

"My ankle is sprained."

Erik broke eye contact. Curse it all, he had forgotten about that. Well, this certainly will be a unique experience.

"I suppose then I have no option but to carry you."

Without waiting for a reply, he swiftly picked her up and began the journey to the surface. As he walked, he stared straight ahead, but could sense her gaze on his face.

"I hope you are aware that it is impolite to stare," he mentioned casually, meeting her gaze.

"My apologies, but you are a very interesting person," said Michelle.

"Interesting?" Erik questioned, once more surprised.

"Yes, interesting," she said decisively, not bothering to elaborate.

The rest of the time was spent in an oddly companionable silence, and Erik was thankful that she had finally chosen to stop staring at him. Gradually, Michelle began to recognize the area in which she had originally realized she was lost. She briefly looked up, and noticed that he by his expression that he was becoming uncomfortable. After a few more minutes passed, she spoke up.

"You can let me down now. Madame's room is not too far from here."

"What will you tell her?" he asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

"I tripped down the stairs that lead from the roof," she said nonchalantly.

"Believable."

"It's not completely a lie since I actually did fall down a set of stairs," she reasoned.

"Very well." Erik gently placed her back on her feet, and then moved to walk away. "Farewell."

"Wait!" she exclaimed, and he looked at her expectantly. "What is your name?"

At this, he gave her a puzzled look. Why on earth would she want to know his _name_ out of everything else she could have possibly asked?

"Well, your name obviously isn't Opera Ghost or Phantom. So? What is it?" she urged.

"My name is Erik," he said with a ghost of a smile.

"I'm Michelle. And Erik, thank you," she said sincerely.

Michelle turned away first, awkwardly limping and hopping to Madame Giry's room.


	2. Chapter 2

Lost in Winter

Chapter 2

Not for the first time in her life, Michelle was terrified. At the moment, she was standing before Madame Giry's door and had just knocked. Multiple expressions played out across her features as she waited, and she knew that no one ever wanted to bear the brunt of the older woman's wrath.

Raising her hand to knock again, her fist met nothing but air as the door swung open.

"Michelle! Where in the world have you been? Nobody could find even a clue as to where you were!" the ballet mistress exclaimed while ushering her inside.

"Well, I-I was planning on going up to the roof to relax, but on the way down I tripped," Michelle explained uneasily.

"Are you all right?" the woman asked while scrutinizing the dancer.

"Yes—no," she struggled to find the right words. "While I was falling I my legs got scratched up as well as… I believe I sprained my ankle."

The Madame exhaled softly and shook her head. As much as she cared for the health and safety of all her dancers, it was even more so for Michelle. The poor thing had come to the Opera Populaire at a younger age than most girls. She was only thirteen, and it took much persistence and persuasion on Madame Giry's part to get Monsieur Lefevre to allow her to stay.

Fortunately, talent was not an issue, but rather experience. At first, the girl was quite shy and very frightened at the prospect of performing before hundreds of people. Gradually, though, Michelle began to overcome these challenges just as she had with many others, including witnessing both her parents' demise. It was Madame's belief that there was more than what meets the eye about the death of Michelle's mother and father. Though she was told that her mother had died when she was ten from sickness, nothing was ever definite about her father. People speculated that he, too, had fallen ill, but others were more insistent that he was murdered.

Whatever the story may be, Michelle never spoke of it. If the subject was brought up, she would either deftly change the topic, or find an excuse to leave. By now, having been seven years since her father's passing, few people bothered to question the past, and had accepted it as fact and moved on.

"Consider yourself very fortunate that there are more dancers than positions on the stage," Madame Giry finally spoke. "There is another girl who can fill your spot, but now I must demand that you keep your time spent walking to a minimum. During tomorrow's performance, I expect you to remain in your room, and I shall check on you beforehand. Understood?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Come, then, I shall assist you to your room now."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Though she was the last one to bed the previous night, Michelle was oddly the first to rise. Dawn had yet to arrive, but light still filtered through the space between the window curtains. She slowly sat up, slightly wincing at the pain from her still aching body. It seemed as though all her grace instantly vanished the moment she stepped off stage, leaving behind a woefully clumsy girl.

Sleepily glancing around the room, her gaze landed upon her bedside table. On the normally empty surface was a folded piece of paper placed beneath a small unlabeled glass jar. Setting it aside, she reached for the parchment that had her name fluently spelled across, and opened it.

_Mademoiselle Michelle,_

_To help along the healing process of some of your injuries, I have given you a small jar of salve that will prevent infection. There should be more than enough. I apologize that you will not be able to join tonight's performance, but I wish you a fast recovery._

_I do hope that all went well with Madame Giry._

_Sincerely,_

_Erik_

Michelle stared at the letter for quite some time, rereading it twice before placing it in her lap. She couldn't fathom at all why Erik had even gone through the trouble of giving her the salve let alone writing a letter. Yet again, she probably would have discarded the jar had there not been an explanation alongside it, but that still didn't answer why he had even bothered. During their encounter the previous night, he had taken her back only a few minutes after she had awoken. And after they had gotten near Madame's rooms, he was intent on leaving as soon as possible.

Shaking her head at the complexity of it all, she tucked the note safely inside her side table drawer. After pondering it slightly, she reached for the jar of salve and unscrewed the lid. She applied the medical cream to her wounds, sighing contentedly at its cool feel. Once she had finished, she added the jar as well into the drawer. Pulling her sheets on top of her again, Michelle soon fell back asleep.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Erik's heart was still beating rapidly in his chest even after he had safely returned to his underground home. He cursed quietly, more than aggravated with himself for nearly getting caught. He shouldn't have even been up there in the first place! The girl would've survived with or without his help; what difference would a small container of salve have? And then, as if to top off his _stupidity_, he had stayed there for minutes longer than was necessary.

But for some reason, he couldn't help it. As he was about to turn around and leave, he caught sight of her distressed face. Her features clearly showed her discomfort for whatever she was dreaming about, and she restlessly tossed and turned. Erik was beyond bewildered. He had thought her to be someone without a care in the world, having experienced very little pain and misery in a sheltered life. However, the way she slept proved his theory to be more than slightly wrong. And, as though to spite his wretched luck, her eyelids began to flutter, signaling that she was waking.

As Erik hurriedly left, he couldn't help but berate himself for being so idiotic as too even have the slightest bit of concern for the girl. After all, why show sympathy when only loathing and disgust were the only emotions felt for him? No, he was not going to fall prey to his petty feelings. He had done that once, and it caused him nothing but hurt.

Now, no one would ever have the chance to harm him again. He would make sure of it.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Nearly two weeks had passed since Michelle had fallen and gotten a sprain. At this point in time, it was almost fully healed, but she was only allowed to participate minimally during rehearsal as some of the moves were too strenuous on her still weak ankle. To make up for this, and to ensure her strength, she was to dance for at least an hour every night and practice some of the more basic steps. Michelle didn't complain, for she had already finished two books while she was confined to her room.

It was an hour after supper when she decided that it would be best to start her nightly dancing before it got too late. So, with her ballet shoes in hand, she proceeded down to the stage.

After thoroughly stretching and completing the warm-ups, Michelle began to go through what Madame had told her to practice. Halfway through, she paused to take a break. Sitting on the edge of the stage, she peered around at the spacious room. It was eerily quiet as usual, but for the first time it made her ill at ease. Normally when she was here, the silence would be lost in the music that played through her head as she danced. Today, the lack of sound and some other reason caused her to be more on guard, as though there was something there lurking, waiting to strike and cause chaos.

Pushing these thoughts out of mind, she stood up and resumed focusing on her art. Hardly a minute later a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, causing her to misstep and lose her balance. Michelle's eyes widened as she looked up to see a drunken stagehand leering at her. She wanted her body to move, but she was frozen in place with fear. Her throat constricted as panic threatened to overwhelm her and her breathing became shallow and irregular.

A flash of black momentarily obstructed her vision, but then she heard a low grunt of pain. She had closed her eyes, willing everything to disappear. Michelle didn't want to see that man with yellowed, rotting teeth and disheveled clothes in front of her. It reminded too much of…

"Michelle! Michelle, open your eyes!" Erik's voice tried to push through the memories that consumed her mind.

But it was to no avail. Michelle was trapped inside the scenes of the past, in events that she had tried so hard to keep buried. The man who had caused her so much pain when she was a child entered her thoughts; the man who took her mother and father away.

"Michelle!" Erik tried again.

He couldn't understand what was happening. Fainting out of fear at what could have happened to her made sense. However, she seemed to have gone into a nightmare. She kept on mumbling random phrases and names, and nothing seemed to get through to her. It was similar to the night two weeks ago when he had given her the salve, and she had almost woken up. But this… this was far worse.

Although he dreaded it, Erik knew that the only thing he could do was take her to Madame Giry.

**A/N: Hello! First of all, I would like to thank my lovely reviewers! But, I also want to apologize for taking so long to update. Life has been hectic to say the least... But I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think. ~ ninja1871**


	3. Chapter 3

Lost in Winter

Chapter 3

Madame Giry had honestly thought that nothing could surprise her this far in life. After so many years spent at the Opera Populaire, both as a dancer and as the ballet mistress, she believed to have seen all that she was meant to in this life. But, when Erik appeared at her door at around nine o'clock in the evening carrying one her precious dancers, that belief was instantly shattered.

For a moment, the Madame was rendered speechless, but she quickly regained her composure at Erik's impatient cough.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but was effectively cut off by a groan issuing from Michelle. Both of their eyes immediately snapped to her now trembling figure in his arms. Her hands were balled into tight fists while tears silently trickled down her pale cheeks. Without a word Madame Giry stepped back, allowing him to step through, closing the door behind him.

"She was dancing when one of a drunken stagehand came after her," Erik started, setting Michelle down on Meg's old bed. "I… dealt with him, and when I came back to Michelle she was mumbling bits of sentences and wouldn't wake."

"I see…" Antoinette trailed off, lost in thought.

"What happened to her?" The words rushed out of their own accord.

"Michelle didn't fall down the stairs leading to the roof. She fell in one of your passages," the woman stated, ignoring the question. "And you found her, helped her, and brought her back here. That's how you know her name. Am I wrong?"

"No, you are not wrong," Erik reluctantly admitted, but knew the truth was the only option. "Now answer my question."

"Why are you so interested in her, Erik? What are you aiming for?" Antoinette pressed.

"I am not aiming for anything!" he snapped, but his anger quickly deflated. "I don't know why I am interested in her. Will you _please_ answer my question?"

"I suppose," she replied loftily, but her tone soon softened. "To be honest, nobody is quite sure about her past, and she is quick to change the topic if she is ever asked about it. What is known, however, is that both her parents are deceased. Her mother passed first, apparently of illness. Three years later, her father was gone, but nobody except possibly Michelle knows how he died. Rumors went around that he was murdered or committed suicide; others insist rather adamantly that he, too, died of sickness.

"When Michelle first came to the opera house, she was a very shy and timid girl of thirteen. I managed to convince Monsieur Lefevre to allow her to stay, but it took a while for her to get used to performing in front of such large audiences. Occasionally she would fall into a long, restless sleep such as now, and it would always happen after something traumatic occurred whether to her or someone around her. Also, whenever the highly esteemed patron Monsieur Moreau would make an appearance, she would always come to me claiming to feel sick. She never faked it though, and when I would visit her after rehearsal she would have a fever and terrible nightmares. After this happened time and time again, I have had a growing suspicion of that man.

"Though there is nothing to prove a connection between him and Michelle's past, I try for her sake to keep her busy whenever that man is around so she can't think about what had happened so many years ago. Although it isn't much, I'm afraid that is all I know."

Erik didn't respond for several minutes, allowing the information to seep into his mind. He knew of Monsieur Moreau, as he did of all the patrons, and was well aware of the suspicions of several misdeeds committed by the other man. The one thing that was for certain, though, was his raging alcoholism. However, the first time Erik saw Moreau was when he was introduced as a new patron. Something about the patron just didn't sit well with him, especially at the story of his newfound wealth.

Indeed, it was seven years ago when Monsieur Moreau was introduced into the elite society of Paris. He claimed that his sudden influx of money came from the death of one of his longtime friends. This friend supposedly promised everything to him, but nobody ever knew his name nor would Moreau reveal it.

Erik turned away from the Madame and said, "Inform me when she wakes up by placing a note in box five."

With that, he left.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It was late afternoon when Michelle finally awoke. For a long moment, she stared at the ceiling, unmoving. She could feel the cold sweat that encased her body, a feeling she strongly disliked. Sitting up, confusion wrapped around her mind like a blanket, but too tight for her to break free of it. Why was she in Madame Giry's quarters? Where was the stage?

The stage…

Like an avalanche, realization crashed upon her, burying her deep in its reality as the memories flowed free. Clutching her legs to her chest, she began to shake once more, but this time from choked sobs. Michelle cried; her pain nearly tangible from all the years it was pent up. Too long she had internalized everything, showing a smiling façade to hide the hurt. And this—this was when it all became too much; when the burden upon her shoulders became too heavy.

When her tears finally came to a stop, her features turned blank and lacked emotion. Michelle pushed the sheets away, standing up and leaving the room. She returned to her dormitory room, and, after she had changed her clothes, grabbed her cloak, and made her way to the entrance of the opera house. And, without giving anyone a clue as to her whereabouts, she left.

Michelle wasn't quite sure where she was going, but she knew she had to leave at least temporarily. She aimlessly wandered the streets of Paris, her legs carrying her to wherever they so desired to go. And then, she saw it: her old home.

She immediately stopped walking and stared ahead at the tall house. Michelle's pulse raced and her stomach lurched when saw the windows of the first floor boarded up. Her gaze travelled up, and she felt a pang of sadness at seeing several shattered windows. When her eyes landed on the third and final floor where her room was located, the tears that she thought were gone welled up again.

"Michelle!"

Spinning around, she saw a man cloaked completely in black with a hat pulled down low across the right side of his face. Even in the fading light she could still see a small sliver of a white mask.

"E-Erik?" Michelle's voice shook.

The man lifted his hat ever so slightly, allowing her to meet his gaze. Upon seeing his concerned eyes, all resolve not to cry crumbled, and she threw her arms around him. She bawled uncontrollably against his chest, and Erik was momentarily paralyzed with shock.

Never had anyone come to him seeking comfort. And why should he give it? Nobody had ever comforted him when was alone and shunned from the world… But, looking down at her small body that held him tight, Erik gave in. Just this once, he would be her consolation. And so he allowed his arms to wrap around her, and held her until the last tear fell.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I didn't," he replied.

"Then how were you able to find me?"

"Your face is much more memorable than you may think, and the people around here agree," Erik said.

Michelle felt her face heat in a light blush, and dropped her gaze. Letting her arms fall, she stepped back and faced the house again.

"This used to be my home before my parents died. My room was at the very top," she began, not knowing why she was telling him this. "In short, after my father passed everything went to his closest friend whose son I was arranged to marry. I didn't trust that man or his son, and with good reason… However, when I was left with nothing, I went to the Opera Populaire. And that's where I've been for the past seven years."

"How come I feel as though there is more to the story than what you are letting on?" Erik questioned as they began to walk back.

"Because there is more to this painful tale than I trust you with at the moment," Michelle said, and then turned towards him with a small, sad smile. "Though, I will admit, you are the first person to get this much information out of me."

"For my curiosity's sake, tell me: why do you trust me to this extent?" Erik couldn't help but ask.

"Well, for one, you helped me after I got lost and injured. And you also saved me yesterday," she replied evenly.

"How do you know for sure that it was me that saved you?" he continued.

"I know that it was you because I heard your voice," she said softly.

"If you could hear my voice then why couldn't you respond?"

"Oftentimes when something happens that reminds me of the bad parts of my past, I become trapped in the memory," Michelle began to explain. "Yesterday, for example, the drunken stagehand reminded me of the day my father died, and of his friend."

"How is your father's death connected with his friend?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but that is a story for another time," Michelle said, giving him another small smile.

Their conversation drifted into companionable silence, and they continued walking back to the opera house. When the large building started to come into view, a form of sorrow fell over Michelle as she realized their time together was coming to an end. She truly enjoyed talking with Erik. He actually listened to her, and she was surprised at how curious he was about her. Well, she could technically say the same, for she wondered a lot about him as well.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle?"

"Could we maybe talk again?" Michelle asked, and then added. "I enjoy talking with you."

"If you so desire," Erik replied calmly, though on the inside he was more than a little surprised. Yes, he also enjoyed talking with her, but never did he expect for her to experience the same.

"Hmm… but where? And when?" Michelle wondered aloud.

"How about this: I shall leave you another note giving you a place and time?" Erik suggested.

"Oh, yes, that would work quite well!" she exclaimed. "And that reminds me; I never thanked you for the salve!"

"You did not have to thank me," he said.

"Yes, I do!" Michelle said stubbornly. "Thank you."

Erik sighed at her antics, but nonetheless said, "You're welcome."

**A/N: To make up for not updating in a long time after chapter 1, I decided to update now. I hope you all enjoyed it! This chatper was so enjoyable for me to write, though I will admit, I am a bit unsure of how everybody will react to it... So, please review! Thanks! ~ninja1871**


	4. Chapter 4

Lost in Winter

Chapter 4

_Michelle,_

_Friday evening, nine o'clock, former prima donna room. Do not be late._

Before she could help it, a large grin spread across Michelle's face. It had been several days since her encounter with Erik at her old home. If she was honest with herself, she would admit that she had grown doubtful that he would contact her. A surge of relief had filled her at the sight of the note tucked hidden beneath her pillow. And the thought that he had stayed true to his word only proceeded to heighten her happiness.

She found it odd, however, at how something as simplistic as a note and a kept promise made her happy. After all, she had only interacted with Erik three times, technically two since she was unconscious for the duration of one of their chance meetings. Though Michelle did feel comfortable around him, she believed it to be quite peculiar considering she barely knew the man.

And that brought up another point. As was most of the Parisian society, Michelle was well aware of the terrible things he had done. But, should she allow his actions of the past define him? To her, Erik seemed to be merely a broken man trying to find a new reason to live in this twisted world. Should she give him a chance to prove that he is more than what others made him out to be?

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Friday morning arrived much too quickly for Michelle. She had yet to finish sorting out her complicated thoughts that all centered around the man she was meeting this same night. Throughout rehearsal she fidgeted uncontrollably, and was caught more than once completely submerged in her own world.

"Monsieur Andre, why do you insist on disrupting my rehearsals?!" Monsieur Reyer exclaimed at the sudden appearance of the manager with a patron at his heels.

"I do apologize Monsieur Reyer," Andre said half-heartedly. "But, Monsieur Fournier, our most recent patron, insisted on seeing a preview for the show that is to come at the month's end."

The conductor only sighed in exasperation, but refrained from commenting further. The performers had all fallen silent as the studied the man accompanying Andre. As the majority of the ballet girls had noticed, he was quite attractive. Michelle rolled her eyes as they whispered excitedly.

As if just noticing what he had interrupted, Monsieur Fournier gave a charming smile before saying, "Oh, please continue as if I wasn't here. I am deeply sorry for causing such a commotion."

Muttering something under his breath, Monsieur Reyer signaled for the orchestra. Music filled the spacious room, and the dancers began their fluid and graceful movements. As Michelle moved about the stage, she couldn't shake the feeling of someone intently watching her every step. She ignored it as best she could, but it put her ill at ease until the music ended. Looking around curiously, she tried to locate who it was, but her search came to an abrupt halt when Madame Giry called her over.

Instinctively, she tensed with dread, but calmed ever so slightly upon seeing the ballet mistress's neutral expression. Without further delay, Michelle approached her.

"I believe you should retire for the day; I do not want you to over exert your ankle after it has just healed," the Madame said.

"But Madame—" Michelle tried to protest.

"This is not an option. You will go rest for the remainder of the day," she said in an inarguable tone.

After a brief moment, the girl conceded, "Yes, Madame."

Michelle hurried to leave the stage before she got in the way of rehearsal, all the while pondering this twist of events. Even when she had been hurt, Madame Giry made sure she practiced to become strong again. Now that her ankle was in nearly the same state it was in before the injury, it seemed a bit… odd for her to be forced to rest again. There must have been some other reason—

"Oh, pardon me, Mademoiselle."

Looking up at the person she had just run into, she was surprised to see the patron, Monsieur Fournier.

"The fault is mine, I apologize, Monsieur," Michelle replied in the polite voice she used around all patrons. She moved to step around him, but he shifted his body to block her. "Monsieur?"

"You were just at the stage, dancing, were you not?" Monsieur Fournier asked quite suddenly.

"Yes, I was," she said, not bothering to elaborate.

"Well, might I say, you danced beautifully. But, why are you leaving so soon?" he questioned again.

"Thank you very much." Michelle blushed unwillingly. "And, Madame Giry requested that I take the rest of the day off to rest my ankle. I had sprained it a short while ago. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go."

"Of course, I hope to see you again, Michelle," Fournier said, and continued on his way.

Michelle paused, her heart beating madly in her chest. Not once did she mention her name. She drew in a shaky breath, and then shook her head. No, it couldn't be him. Madame Giry had probably mentioned her name, or something along those lines… right? Hastily pushing the thought from her head, she resumed walking, but couldn't help glancing behind at the man's retreating form.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It was fifteen minutes to nine when Michelle started down to the former prima donna room. As she weaved her way through the halls, she couldn't help the excitement bubbling within her. A small smile graced her features as thought about it. Though she hadn't known Erik for very long, she felt a lot more trust for him than she did for most people. Indeed, it was quite peculiar, but there was something safe about his presence.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, where are you off to this late in the evening?"

The voice instantly pulled her from her thoughts, and the smile was wiped clean from her face when she saw who it was.

"Can I help you with something, Monsieur Fournier?" Michelle asked in an even, yet slightly irked tone.

"Please, call me James," he said with false charm. "And I was just wondering where you would be going at this time of night?"

"Monsieur, I don't believe that it is any concern of yours as to where I might be going," she said daringly.

"Oh, but I believe it is. After all, we don't want you to get hurt again right before the upcoming performance," James replied patronizingly.

"But, Monsieur—"

"Call me James."

"But _Monsieur_," Michelle said forcefully. "I beg to differ. Contrary to your beliefs, I am more than capable of handling myself and any injuries I might possibly sustain. And, if it satisfies your curiosity, I have something to discuss with Madame Giry. Good evening to you."

Michelle intended to walk away, not further inclined to listen to his nonsense, but his hand on her arm prevented her from doing so.

"Let me escort you to her just so I am sure you arrive safely," he insisted once more.

Snatching her arm away from his grip, panic made her stomach flip. Seeing there was no way out of it, she went to her last resort.

She ran.

His calls for her to stop echoed through the hallways, but Michelle made quick work of getting to the prima donna room. She locked the door behind her, leaning against it and closing her eyes as she caught her breath. It was only when she reopened them that she noticed the figure almost perfectly blended into the shadows.

"Hello, Erik," Michelle said, smiling sheepishly.

"May I inquire why—"

"I know you're in there you ungrateful little girl!" James Fournier's voice shouted through the wooden door.

"I see…" Erik trailed off softly.

"Yes, he unfortunately decided that I needed an escort to wherever I might be going, and I ran away," she explained in a whisper.

A loud thud followed by a low grunt of pain indicated James' unsuccessful attempt to open the door. Erik simply raised an elegant eyebrow before speaking.

"It is quite all right; I know a way out of here other than the obvious route. Follow me."

Michelle watched curiously as Erik walked over to the full sized mirror, sliding his hand down the edge of it. With a quiet click, the mirror slid to the side, and he motioned for her to follow as he stepped through the opening. Once they were both through, he slid the mirror back into place and started to lead her into the passageway.

The only source of light came from the torch Erik was carrying. Michelle held a tight grip on a piece of his cloak to give her peace of mind as they walked. Goosebumps coated her arms both from the chilly air as well as from fright. Though she was not a little girl anymore, her fear of the dark remained with her. She could only hope that they would not be down here for too much longer.

Her prayers were answered, for hardly a minute later the two began to ascend a flight of stone stairs. Erik set the torch in its holder on the wall and proceeded to open what appeared to be just a wooden sliding door. But, to Michelle's surprise, as she and Erik walked into the room a bright smile formed. They were in the Opera Populaire's library.

She turned to face him, her smile still in place, "This is wonderful! I had never been in here before due to being busy with rehearsal, but… I'm simply awestruck by how beautiful it is! Thank you, Erik!"

Without thinking, she rushed forward and hugged him. Erik was caught off guard once more, but this time reacted in a much more positive manner. As he returned the embrace, he couldn't help feeling happy as well. To be honest, he hadn't expected her to be so excited by the library, and had figured that she would more so puzzled by the fact that he had brought her there. But now, he was more than grateful that he had chosen the right place.

All too soon, Michelle pulled away and gave him another brilliant grin before scanning through the collection of books. Erik found his own lips twitching into a small, satisfied smile, and he mimicked her actions, trying to find a book for himself, too.

As she searched through the different shelves, Michelle couldn't stop the blush that heated her face. She couldn't believe how bold she had been! And, even more surprising, he had returned her hug. For sure she had thought he would have pulled away much sooner, but he didn't. Sneaking a glance in his direction, her face turned cherry red when her gaze met Erik's. Neither one of them looked away for several moments, but Erik seemed to have caught himself and abruptly turned his focus back to the books. Michelle slowly turned away, but couldn't help the disappointment that followed.

**A/N: Hello again my dear readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I cannot even begin to express how much fun it was to write it! And yes, now you've been introduced to Monsieur Fournier, and you will be seeing much of him in the future.**

**On another note, in response to 1AmberSkye1, in my story Erik is around 27 years old. That being said, it is indirectly mentioned that Michelle is around 20 years old. Also, thank you to all of you who reviewed, and I appreciate all reviews. Whether it be constructive criticism or just a simple "good job!" don't feel shy and please just type a response. Thank you! ~ninja1871**


	5. Chapter 5

Lost in Winter

Chapter 5

Three long and arduous weeks had passed since Michelle's meeting with Erik in the library. And yet, since that night there had been no contact between the two. Though not much could be said for his lack of communication to her, Michelle's rehearsal schedule prevented her from doing much more than dancing. And with the recurrent presence of Monsieur Fournier at the Opera Populaire to "ensure its wellbeing," she had little time to worry about not seeing the masked man.

Though she refused to acknowledge it most of the time, life seemed off kilter without seeing Erik at least every other week. Something just seemed to be… missing. Of course, the only time these thoughts could sneak into her mind was at night when she was nearly asleep. But, with her chaotic and exhausting practices every day, those thoughts had more opportunities to consume her…

At the moment, Michelle was hurriedly returning to the stage to continue rehearsal. The performers had received an early lunch break, but rather unfortunately she was delayed in leaving due to a request by Madame Giry. By the time she had eaten, the others had already left, but she luckily had an extra five minutes, courtesy of the ballet mistress. Still, not wanting to take advantage of it, she finished up quickly.

As she was rounding the corner of a hallway, Michelle had the tragic luck of running into somebody.

"I apologize, I was not looking…" Michelle trailed off upon seeing who it was.

James Fournier.

"It's quite all right," Fournier began rather formally. "However, I must say: I have been attempting to find you with no success these past few weeks."

"Oh, I was not aware of that," she replied, shifting uncomfortably. "Pardon me, Monsieur, but I must return now."

She moved to side step him, and her eyebrows furrowed when he moved to block her. Looking back up, she was unnerved by his intense gaze. Again, she tried to move around him still to no avail. Growing tired of his antics, Michelle narrowed her gaze.

"I grow tired of your childish games, Monsieur; stand aside."

"And if choose not to?"

"Then I must inform you that delaying me will only incur Madame Giry's wrath upon you. Unbeknownst to you, that is not something you should be aspiring to achieve," Michelle replied harshly.

"There is little she can do," James replied in the same manner.

"Do you really want to risk—"

"Michelle, what are you doing? You should have returned to the stage by now!" Madame Giry's voice interrupted.

Both of them turned at the sudden appearance of the ballet mistress, and Michelle released an inaudible sigh of relief.

"I apologize, Madame," she said, hardly sounding convincing.

"Do not waste any more time apologizing, just come with me," the Madame said.

Without another word, Michelle followed the older woman who turned without one look at the patron. Despite being reprimanded, she couldn't help feeling grateful that she escaped.

"You must promise me, Michelle, to stay away from that man," Madame Giry stated seriously.

"Believe me, Madame, I've already been struggling to avoid him," she replied.

The ballet mistress hesitated; how much did she know or remember?

"What made you come to that decision?" she asked tentatively.

"I am not quite sure how to explain it, but something feels… odd about him. It's as though he knows something that I don't. Yet again, if that's true, it would explain a lot…" Michelle thought out loud.

"Explain what, exactly?"

"Oh, I believe that he thinks he knows me, or something of the sort, for just a few moments ago he informed me that for the past few weeks he's been attempting to find me," she said casually.

"Michelle, it is most important that you stay away from him. Promise me," Madame Giry demanded.

"I promise, Madame. But, may I ask why you are so insistent?"

"No, you may not. Unless it's absolutely necessary, I do not want you to know," the older woman said cryptically.

Peeved at this, Michelle fell silent. What was so important that she wasn't allowed to know? Especially considering the fact that it concerned her wellbeing! Anger sparked within her mind. She was not some weakling who couldn't handle the truth!

… but what was the truth?

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

A knock upon Antoinette Giry's door at precisely midnight disrupted the woman from her thoughts. Gracefully standing up and striding to entrance of her rooms, she opened it to reveal a thoroughly annoyed and anxious Erik.

"Ah, Erik, how kind of you to finally make an appearance," Madame Giry said in a clipped tone.

"Pardon me, Antoinette, for not having the desire to give one of your precious dancers heart failure," Erik replied sarcastically.

"I shall have you know—"

"Enough of this," he interrupted. "Tell me why you sent that letter or else I have no qualms about leaving."

"As I am most certain you are aware, the new patron James Fournier has been spending quite a large amount of time here," she began. "But, I believe that his true reasons are not with concern towards the opera house. Instead, I worry that those reasons are related to Michelle."

Erik visibly stiffened when he heard her name. He knew that the blame fell on him for not contacting her, but in all honesty he thought it to be in Michelle's best interest. After reflecting upon the circumstances in which she had walked—technically ran—into the former prima donna room, he thought it would be better for them not to see each other for the time being. Considering how Fournier had reacted when she tried to leave only further proved to him that it was dangerous for them to meet.

"How so?" Erik finally asked.

"If you recall all that I told you about her past, then you will remember Monsieur Moreau," Madame Giry started. "What I haven't told you is that Monsieur Moreau and Monsieur Laurent, Michelle's father, were business partners and used to be very good friends. A year before Henri Laurent's death, Moreau married a widow who had a son: James Fournier.

"Though I do not know the dynamics of their relationship, it is apparent that James and Michelle used to know each other. But, I believe that Michelle does not remember him, which partially explains why he has been trying so desperately to corner her."

"And what is expected of me?" Erik asked offhandedly.

"I need you to deter him. I am afraid of what might happen should Michelle recollect the memories she has blocked. You have already bore witness to a very mild trauma; imagine how she would react to something on a scale as large as this," the Madame said determinedly.

"You expect me to accomplish this… how exactly?"

"Are you not the Opera Ghost?"

Erik merely glowered in return.

"Precisely."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

The next day as Michelle began walking to rehearsal, she couldn't help but notice that the early morning chaos was more frantic than usual. Her footsteps slowed to a less hurried pace as she curiously peered around at the worried and anxious expressions of the other performers. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as a frown settle heavily on her face. The unsuccessfully inconspicuous looks she received didn't help.

"Michelle!" an urgent voice whispered.

Looking to her left, Michelle saw a very aggravated Evelyn.

"Is something wr—"

"Yes, something is wrong!" Evelyn interrupted. "Do you not think enough of me to tell me what happened?"

"Tell you what exactly?" she asked with growing trepidation.

"As if you don't know," her friend continued to rant. "Everybody is always asking me because I am supposedly your closest friend. How do you expect me to reply when you haven't said anything?"

With growing irritation, Michelle finally exclaimed, "What is it that I apparently did?"

"Michelle!" a different, stronger voice suddenly called out.

The corridor instantly grew silent as everyone looked to the owner of the voice: Madame Giry.

"Yes, Madame?"

"Come with me, now."

As the two walked through the now deadly quiet hallway Michelle could feel everyone's eyes intensely staring at her. The attention caused her heart to race and a deep flush of embarrassment to rise to her cheeks. When they arrived at the ballet mistress's rooms, she was quickly ushered inside.

"What did Monsieur Fournier say to you yesterday?" the older woman demanded.

"Nothing of particular value or importance… What is going on, Madame? What did I do?" Michelle asked in a panicked tone.

"Did he mention anything of being engaged to you?" Madame Giry questioned again.

"What?" Michelle cried. "No, he did not! Madame, what is going on?"

"Monsieur Fournier received a letter yesterday. It essentially threatened him to stay away from the ballet girls or else there will be consequences to pay," she started. "He responded by asking if this had anything to do with you and the incident yesterday. He claimed that he was trying to get you to remember your engagement."

"What engagement? The only engagement I've ever had ended four years ago in the fire! And I don't remember him; not in the least!" Michelle said, starting to pace.

"Michelle, calm down," Madame said seriously. "You must remember the past or else I do not know how to help you."

"No." Michelle shook her head. "I can't remember that. I won't."

"You _must_. Now that people have heard what Monsieur Fournier said about an engagement to you, the only way out of it is to let the truth come into the open," she insisted.

"No, it isn't the only way out."

"Then what do you suggest?" the ballet mistress asked, frustrated.

"I'll leave."

**A/N: Hi... I am completely sorry that I didn't update until now. School... enough said. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll try to update sooner. Remember to review!** **~ninja 1871**


	6. Chapter 6

Lost in Winter

Chapter 6

_November 19, 1886_

_Dear Erik,_

_At this point in time I believe I am forever in debt to you. However, I am afraid that I will never be able to return the favor. Tonight, not too long after you have read this letter, I will have already left for London. I am sure that you are aware of the circumstances under which I am leaving, and I must say that I can no longer live here while Monsieur Fournier strives to cause me trouble. It is more than a matter of triviality; it extends into a more complex problem._

_I cannot describe to you at this moment the depth of the aforementioned problem; not only would that require several more sheets of paper, but this method of conversation is much too formal for something so personal. Though I have told you much more about my past than anyone else, the complete discussion will have to wait until the next time we meet…_

_Before I conclude this letter, you must know that, despite the short length of our friendship, I will always remember you._

_I wish you the best, and hope that we will meet once more._

_Sincerely,_

_Michelle Laurent_

Erik stared impassively at the letter, and then let out a hollow bark of laughter. He shook his head, mocking his own stupidity. He should have known that Michelle would leave. And, he had no one to blame but himself. First of all, he should not have listened to Antoinette and written that note to Fournier. But, aside from that, he should have never even bothered to help the girl when she became lost in his underground domain.

Of course this would happen; Erik should've known that it would end this way from the very start! Nobody could tolerate him. It was simply a fact of life that he should have learned by now. If his own mother found it impossible to gaze upon him lovingly, then how could he expect Christine or Michelle to do the same?

History repeats itself.

Rage burned within him, growing dangerously fierce. Yes, Erik _hoped_ that he and Michelle would meet again… but not for the same reasons as her.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

December 22, 1887

One Year and One Month Later

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

The Opera Populaire was once again in its usual state of chaos, and for the reason of the soon to be annual Christmas Gala. At the current time, a quarter past noon, the front hall was very nearly deserted. Occasionally one of the two managers would stroll by, but most of the employees were too busy with rehearsal or adding the last details to the set to be aimlessly roaming around.

But, had it been a different time, or a different day, or perhaps a different week, performer, stagehand, and manager alike would have been astounded by who walked through their front door. None of them would have been able to fathom it; none of them would have been able to believe that the girl who had left over a year ago had returned as a woman, independent and strong.

As Michelle walked through the familiar halls, her gait was elegant, her steps slow and deliberate. The place looked to be in the same state as she had left it, but she knew that appearances could be deceiving. The naïve girl who used to reside at the Opera Populaire would have foolishly hoped to be welcomed with open arms. That girl was gone now, and had evolved into a competent, tenacious, and skeptical adult.

However, she was not here for the mere pleasure of returning to her former home. Rather, her sudden appearance could be attributed to the necessity of closure. While in London, Michelle's mentor had taught her the importance of letting go. A ghost of a smile flitted across her features for a moment as she thought of the man who had taught her so much.

Soon enough, Michelle came to a halt before the double doors of her destination: the theater. She lifted a hand to push them open, but hesitated. It would be a lie to say that she wasn't a bit apprehensive of the possible outcomes this decision could have, yet Michelle knew that this was something she couldn't go without doing. In her mind, she knew that she would regret it had she not returned, and for more reasons than one.

With a gentle push, she opened the door only enough for her to slip through. It was dark in the audience, probably to give the performers the feel that there actually was someone watching them…

Taking a seat, Michelle watched the rest of the rehearsal from her spot in the back. As she looked on, she noticed that the cast had, for the most part, remained the same since she had left. There were a few people she did not recognize, but Michelle was more concerned about how one girl in particular would react: Evelyn.

Evelyn was the first person who reached out to Michelle when she first arrived at the Opera Populaire. The older girl had essentially been the mother-like role she needed, but Michelle had completely disregarded that when she left a year ago. Having finally returned, she wouldn't be surprised to be reprimanded or even hated for her actions.

The final notes echoed throughout the room, and Michelle stood. She determinedly walked down the aisle as the performers bustled about, putting away props, taking off ballet shoes, and all the while listening to Madame Giry's critique. Bittersweet nostalgia flooded Michelle's emotions, but she nudged those feelings away; now was not the time.

On stage, movement from the audience caught Evelyn's attention. Walking to the edge, she watched as a silhouette cloaked in shadows came closer until their face could be seen.

"Michelle."

Upon hearing the name, Madame Giry turned around, following Evelyn's gaze. They both watched as the woman before them somberly nodded her head. None of them moved, waiting for the rest of the cast to leave. Even when the door shut with a soft, final click, the heavy silence remained for several more moments.

"You were right, Madame," Michelle addressed the older woman first, her tone even.

"How so?" the ballet mistress questioned, voice quivering ever so slightly.

"I can only be free if I tell the truth. That is why I have returned," she said determinedly.

"The truth about what?" Evelyn questioned quietly.

Looking towards Madame Giry, Michelle gazed into her eyes, silently asking her to leave. With a curt nod, she walked away, glancing back once before exiting.

"Come. I'll meet you on the roof to talk, but first go change your clothes."

Michelle turned away after hearing Evelyn's small sound of agreement, and made her way to the stairs. As she walked, her mind flooded with a flurry of emotions. Though the initial encounter had gone relatively well, she was not sure what reaction would follow her story…

Several minutes had passed, and yet she still stood on the roof alone. This unwanted time gave her mind room to uncover old sentiments and fears, most of which she had no desire in unearthing. Yet, Michelle knew that, if she truly wanted to let go of her past, everything would have to be brought back to the surface.

The door abruptly opened, causing her to jerk, but she then calmed upon seeing Evelyn's face. Once she was close enough, the words tumbled and flowed of their own accord.

"When I was ten years old, my mother passed away from sickness. My father was left brokenhearted, and if it wasn't for his longtime friend Alexandre Moreau, he wouldn't have made it through his grieving. But, Moreau wasn't an honest man, something which both my mother and I knew, but my father was ignorant and believed every word that ever passed his lips.

"About two years later, I overheard a conversation between Moreau and his wife Adela Fournier. I suppose you could say that they were very well suited for each other," Michelle's voice grew cold. "They were both obsessed with money, and there was no boundary as to how far they would go to procure it…

"Their conversation consisted of a plan to steal my father's profit from his profession as a banker. Now that my mother was conveniently out of the way," she bit out sarcastically. "My father was in a very vulnerable position. So, the scheme was to forge a business alliance between our two families, using Adela's son, James Fournier, and myself in an arranged marriage. The catch was, though, that after the ceremony Moreau would slip a bit of poison into my father's drink at the celebration.

"I was trapped. My father would never believe what I had heard, so I did what I thought was the next best thing: I begged him to not put me through the marriage. It worked for a short while, but Moreau was furious. On the night of my thirteenth birthday, Alexandre Moreau broke into my house. He killed my father in front of me."

Michelle hadn't looked even once at Evelyn for the duration of her story, not wanting to see the horrified expression on her friend's face. Yet, as she finally lifted her gaze from its position on the scenery of Paris, her eyes widened upon seeing the overflowing tears that freely travelled down her companion's cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Michelle asked incredulously.

"The better question is: why aren't you?" Evelyn mumbled. "I can't even begin to fathom how you must feel, and yet I am the blubbering, bawling mess!"

Drawing her friend into a comforting embrace, Michelle responded, "It has been almost nine years since the day my father was murdered. And, sadly, it has taken nearly nine years for me to gather enough courage to tell anyone the truth. My time for mourning and sorrow has long since passed. Now is the time for action. I will make sure that Moreau receives what he deserves."

"But what about Monsieur Fournier?"

"Nothing can be done about James for the time being. Once all is revealed about his stepfather, it will be impossible for him to even attempt to follow through with the arranged marriage," she explained thoughtfully.

"What will you do after all is this is over?" Evelyn asked hesitantly. "Will you come back to the Opera Populaire?"

"I will go where I am needed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly that," Michelle replied vaguely. "But now, I must go. There is someone I must visit before I return to the inn tonight."

"All right," Evelyn gave a watery smile. "Are you coming to the Christmas Gala?"

"Of course! I shall find you tomorrow after the performance," Michelle returned the smile.

"Very well. Until tomorrow, then!"

"Until tomorrow."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Michelle had just descended the stairs to the main floor of the opera house. But, instead of walking towards the entrance of the building, she turned in the opposite direction that led to the cellars below.

Just as she remembered, the air progressively cooled, and the ornate hallways faded into grim stone. Though she was not sure if this was the right path, or what even lied ahead, Michelle could only hope that she would find who she was looking for: Erik.

As Michelle travelled further into the catacombs, fear began to prick at her mind. The eerie quiet was most unsettling, the only noise coming from the heels of her shoes. The dim lighting only added to claustrophobic effect the narrow passageway gave her, and thus made her senses hyperaware. At the rate her heart was beating, she wouldn't be surprised if she was actually being watched.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, welcome back…"

**A/N: ... Indeed, I have finally updated. In vain attempt to make up for the long time since the last update, this chapter is longer than most of the other chapters. Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this segment. To be honest, I would have updated sooner, but I rewrote the entire thing because I was deeply unsatisfied with the result. But, this version I am very proud of, and I hope you like it. Thank you, and don't forget to review! ~ ninja1871**


	7. Chapter 7

Lost in Winter

Chapter 7

Although her instincts told her with all their might to scream, Michelle refrained. She inhaled deeply as she forced herself to calm, and slowly turned around to face… nothing. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she scrutinized the shadows of the hallway: not a stir of movement.

"… Erik?" Michelle called out tentatively.

"Indeed, it is I, the horrid, unworthy Phantom!" his voiced roared throughout the passageway. "A surprise it is to see you entering my domain once more! One would think you'd use that apparently lacking common sense of yours and stay away…"

"How dare you—"

"I dare for the simple reason that I can," Erik replied scathingly.

Falling silent, Michelle was baffled. What had happened? This anger—if even that described it—was designed at her, but she couldn't understand why. Yes, she had unexpectedly left, but she had hoped that her letter would have helped to clear up at least some of it. There had to be more to this than just her leaving… Michelle's body went rigid. It wasn't only about _her_ leaving; it was about Christine's abandonment as well as her own, and anyone else who had ever deserted Erik. How could she have been so pathetically stupid?!

"Erik, please listen to me!" Michelle called into the empty corridor. "I didn't—"

"You waste your breath, Mademoiselle. I have no desire to listen to your petty, half-hearted excuses."

"No, Erik, you will listen to me whether you 'desire' it or not! I will not simply waltz away without having spoken to you and making you understand. I refuse to give up!"

The words of her outburst hung in the air for a few moments longer before fading into silence. As if it was tangible, Michelle could not longer sense Erik's presence. Her shoulders hunched as angry tears began to form, but she hurriedly wiped them away and straightened her posture. She would not let him go.

Pulling her cloak closer to block out the chill, Michelle continued down the passageway. Though she knew not where she was heading, her only bet was to continue forward. And, so she did for what felt like hours, but was only minutes of seeing the same scenery. Too many times she would wind up in an area where the path split into two or three, sometimes four, new ones. She could only hope that she was choosing correctly.

Michelle stopped short when she heard the soft sounds of water, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of it. She distinctly remembered the underground lake that lied at the edge of his home, but her high spirits dropped when she noticed there was no way to cross.

Unceremoniously, Michelle dropped to her knees. The stubborn side of her argued that if he wanted to drive her away, he had nearly succeeded. Still, she knew that she would regret not trying to convince him otherwise. And so she sat there with dwindling belief that Erik would ever forgive her.

As the time passed, Michelle knew that it was getting too late based on the low grumblings of her stomach. Her limbs were stiff, her muscles ached, but she refused to leave. If need be, she would spend all damn night down there until Erik would agree to hear her words! Even so, she was exhausted. The trip to Paris, although not a difficult one, had depleted her stores of energy. And, to add onto that, she had not slept well the prior night.

The outlook was not in her favor.

Moving her back against the wall, a shiver passed through her from the ice-cold stone. This was going to be a long night, indeed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Snow gently drifted down from the sky as Erik distractedly paced on the roof. Though the last rays of sun were nearly gone, he was not ready to leave. His encounter with Michelle left him confused and conflicted, and everything no longer made sense. Why had she come back? Why was she so determined to speak with him? He had thought that his words alone would have been enough to push her away, but she refused to leave. What was she thinking?

Finally, Erik stopped his frantic walking. This was far more complicated than necessary.

Exhaling heavily, he began the trek back down to his home. His fingers were nearly frostbitten even with his thick gloves, and, in his preoccupation on the roof, he realized he had not eaten. Curse that woman for making him nearly lose his mind…

As Erik went underground once more, he felt as though something was different. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to rest peacefully without checking every inch of his territory, he began a search of what was probably—hopefully—nothing.

Erik stopped short when he found the problem. Of course it would happen this way.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It was uncomfortably warm when Michelle first stirred. She felt as though she had been lying beneath the sun for hours on end, and was surprised when her eyes opened to see a great number of blankets piled on top of her. Pushing the heavy materials off, she glanced around suspiciously before recognizing her location: Erik's home.

An excited, albeit hesitant, grin started to form when Michelle realized where she was. Though no words had been exchanged, at least this meant that Erik still had some _relative_ concern for her wellbeing. However, her smile started to fade when the realization dawned that the soon-to-commence conversation would most likely be heavily heated with pent up anger. If the earlier altercation was any indication, this would not go over well.

Feeling completely deflated now, her posture slumped. Although her plan was to explain everything to him whether he liked it or not, doubts with adequate evidence began to emerge. But, her eyes widened as she realized what she was doing. Michelle shook her head vehemently, as though trying to physically force the thoughts from her mind. She had not returned as a changed woman only to revert back to old tendencies. No, she would not allow herself to fear Erik's rage let alone anything or any person ever again. She was different now. She was strong.

With an accelerated heartbeat and adrenaline rushing through her veins, Michelle abandoned the safety of the bed and strode confidently towards the main area. The courage she had mustered was nearly thwarted when she saw Erik situated at his organ. He was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, paused briefly as if in thought, and then resumed writing. Though Michelle didn't want to disturb him, she knew that if she didn't speak up now, she never would.

"Erik," Michelle finally spoke his name and watched him freeze. "We must talk."

Straightening from his hunched over position, he didn't bother facing her before saying, "Of what? I do not believe there is anything to be said. Your actions spoke loud and clear."

His voice was calm and controlled, unemotional, yet Michelle knew that his fury was barely hiding beneath the surface. Her initial thought was to tread carefully, but she quickly disregarded the warning. Let him get angry. Let him unleash his rage. She could easily contend with him.

"You question me with the implied belief that action speaks for reason. Do actions not stem from meticulous thought and rumination?" Michelle copied his manner of speaking, but her voice rose in volume as emotion began to seep through. "For some, perhaps not, but my decision to leave was not rash. As my situation grew worse and my options declined, I had not choice if I wanted to get out of that marriage. I'd have rather thrown myself into the sea than spend the rest of my life with the man who assisted in my father's downfall!"

If Erik had wanted to turn around before, now he could not. Michelle's words infused with pain, honesty, and finally grief, were like a torrential rain washing over a fire. His animosity was fading fast, replaced with confusion and curiosity. What did Fournier have to do with her father's demise? He knew that Monsieur Moreau was a likely candidate in terms of involvement, but did James have some sort of connection?

"Erik?" Michelle's voice came softer now, sounding concerned and reluctantly hopeful.

Exhaling the breath he had not been aware of holding, Erik stood and faced Michelle. He would never admit it aloud, but he was momentarily stunned by how much she had matured. The rounded angles of her face had sharpened, her cheekbones more noticeable. And, the way she held herself exuded an aura combining strength and power. He blamed the darkness of the passageway before for hiding these changes, but, loathe he was to say it, she looked beaut-

"Explain everything," Erik said, cutting off a thought he wouldn't dare finish. "That includes your leaving and everything about Monsieur Fournier and your father.. Even if you think it's a mundane, trivial detail, say it anyways."

Smiling slightly, Michelle replied, "As you wish."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Drawing in another shallow breath, Monsieur Firmin's eyes darted around suspiciously in quick surveillance of each and every person attending the night's gala. His accelerated heart rate and high blood pressure could be attributed to none other than his rational fear of the Opera Ghost. And, he had good reason to be afraid especially tonight. No, the Phantom did not send one of his infamous notes... but that is exactly why Firmin was scared out of his wit. Dabbing at the beads of sweat gathering on his face and neck with a damp handkerchief, the manager's mind reluctantly travelled back to just an hour before:

The long anticipated performance that had critics and patrons alike eager to arrive turned out for the worst. On her opening note, La Carlotta's voice _cracked_. Several dismayed gasps echoed throughout the theater, but nothing compared to the wave of panic that washed over Andre and Firmin. Was this another joke courtesy of O.G.? What did they do this time to incite his wrath? But, as the opera progressed and nothing else of a peculiar or disastrous nature occurred, the managers began to think that maybe _he_ had nothing to do with it.

However, there was no doubt in the slightest that the Phantom had seen this grievous mistake. He would be sure to make them pay for not listening to his demands to rid them of Carlotta. Time and time again he had stated that her foolish prancing about the stage would one day fail... If only they had listened!

Catching the eye of Monsieur Andre across the hall and noticing his inconspicuous shake of the head, Monsieur Firmin knew that there was no sight of him yet. Unfortunately, like everything else, all good things come to an end.

"I warned you, good Monsieur, of what would happen should you continue to permit Carlotta's presence here. Do not fret, however, for I am in quite a gratuitous mood. Consider this mistake forgiven. But, keep an open mind towards the future; there are many changes coming."

Whipping around frantically, and disturbing several people in the process, Firmin glanced around with wild and widened eyes. When his frenzied search for the culprit ended inevitably empty handed, he looked back at Andre who gave him an eyeroll followed by a subtle glare. Disconcerted by his partner's antics, Firmin stormed over to get another drink. Had no one else seen the man behind him?!

Based upon the many covert and concerned stares he was receiving, Firmin deduced that no one, as unbelievable as it may seem, had seen anything out of the ordinary.

Of course.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Erik's footsteps were slightly heavier than usual as he walked to the library. Though he had fully enjoyed his prank on Monsieur Firmin at the gala, his elation fell when he could no longer spot Michelle in the crowd. He had made sure that she was nearby when he sent the manager his message so she could hear it as well. And, judging by the almost unnoticeable pause in her step as she walked past the co-owner of the Opera Populaire, Erik was sure that she had listened. Unfortunately, he had gotten distracted by Firmin's near mental breakdown and did not witness Michelle leave.

At this point, Erik had arrived at the library, grabbed a random book from the shelves, and sank down in one of the comfortable armchairs. With an elongated exhale of breath, he opened the book and was about to commence reading when a voice interrupted him.

"Hello to you, too, Erik," Michelle spoke.

Erik's head snapped up, his shocked eyes contacting with her calm ones.

Calming his racing heart, he replied, "I apologize, Michelle; I did not notice you there."

"Clearly," she said, giving a small smile. "What thoughts have your mind so preoccupied?"

"Nothing of too drastic proportions," Erik deliberately remained vague.

Michelle hummed in disbelief, "Are you sure that it has nothing to do with your little joke on Monsieur Firmin earlier at the gala?"

"More or less."

"I see..."

"And you, why did you abandon the festivities?" Erik countered.

"A certain individual decided to grace the hall with his glorious presence, and it would be best if said person was not aware of my being here," Michelle grumbled in annoyance.

"Fournier."

"Unfortunately."

"Though you've explained the past, you have yet to inform me of your current plan to expose Fournier and Moreau," he commented thoughtfully, but sent a pointed glance at her.

"It's not as though I haven't considered it, but I am not sure how exactly I should go about revealing the truth about them. My word alone is practically worthless in comparison to theirs, and they have much more money to back them than I," Michelle pondered. "I suppose I will have to hire a detective, but that would be quite expensive."

"I could loan you as many francs as you need—"

"No. This is my problem. I refuse to drain your funds simply for my benefit."

Michelle knew from the look in his eye that Erik was going to attempt to persuade her otherwise, and quickly sent him a determined warning glance.

"I have enough at the moment from my career in London to hire an investigator, but it won't last for over a month should it take that long," Michelle thought aloud. "However, I suppose I can always return here as a chorus girl, or ballet girl at the least..."

"And that, my dear, is where I _can_ and _will_ interfere."

"What do you mean, Erik?" she questioned, though she had a very strong inkling as to where this was heading.

"I've already placed the note on the door of the managers' office, so there will be no backing out," Erik said in a non-negotiable tone, though deliberately avoiding the answer to her question.

"_Erik_."

"Say your tearful, heart-wrenching goodbyes to Carlotta; you are now the lead soprano of the Opera Populaire."

**A/N: Yes, I have, finally, returned. It's been quite the stressful past three months, but all of you who have stuck with me are amazing. In part to make up for the long delay, this is the longest chapter I have written thus far at 2,503 words. Again, all of you who've been with me until this point are indescribably incredible! Thank you for your reviews, they are the highlight of my day when I receive that email. Don't forget to review! ~ninja1871**


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